


Thinking on the Coffee Table

by AlexanderT_Writes



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: CHRISTMAS!!, Fluff, No Angst, all good fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderT_Writes/pseuds/AlexanderT_Writes
Summary: Christmas has arrived at Button House, and Humphrey is taking the time to have a think about his past Christmases - and the new ones.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Thinking on the Coffee Table

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Secret Santa on the Ghiscord - I had loads of fun making this, and hope you all enjoy it too!

It’s funny; when you spend half of your time on the wooden floorboards of the kitchen or the lounge or any other room, you really get more chances to just... think to yourself. 

That’s what Humphrey - at least, his head - was doing now: thinking and thinking and thinking whilst resting on the lounge coffee table. 

It’s not as though the other ghosts ignored him per say, and it’s not as if they purposefully walked past him when he asked to have his head put back onto his shoulders so he could feel his hands again. In reality, he thought, they probably were in their own heads about their problems as much as he was about his. 

He had known every way these people around him had died (all except for Robin, he kept changing the story every few years to keep everyone guessing). He could remember the way he died so clearly - one neat, quick, cold moment and it was over, and here he was as a ghost for however many hundreds of year it had been. 

God, it really had been a long time to be dead. ‘How many Christmases have I lived- er, died... been dead through?’ he thought. 

Really, this Christmas wasn’t unlike any other since Humphrey had become a ghost - he’d have his friends around, and there’d be a turkey, and he wouldn’t eat but he could certainly imagine the taste of his own Christmases from when he was alive. 

He remembered those days fondly. There was that time from when he was five when the pheasant the servants had cooked was gently burnt on the edges and his father had yelled at them all that they had ruined what should have been a perfectly easy meal to cook. Then there was his early twenties, when his wife complained (in French) about the state of the potatoes - at least, Humphrey thought she did. There was also one of the last christmases before he died when the Thames froze over, completely solid, and his younger cousins told him about how they had wanted to play football on the ice with the other children. 

But the stand-out Christmas for him was when Henry VIII invited him and a thousand other nobleman to eat at his dining hall. It had been an incredibly festive occasion; a mistletoe wreath had been set up over the large doorway that lead to the enormous hall, the mince pies were as big as his head (very different from the scrawny little things Mike had brought from the local Tesco’s), and there was a the delicious plum pudding before the proper feast began. Maybe he could ask Alison to make some one year so he could remember the sweet smell of it - that would be nice. 

It was all pomp and glamour, his old Christmases - even after he had died, Button House had always had grand feasts every few years, with Fanny, Thomas, and Kitty reminiscing as well about their fancier festivities. However, something seemed much more intimate and friendly to Humphrey with Alison and Mike’s smaller Christmas. It was more homely, more relaxed, with a smaller group, rather than a thousand loud Lords who were rather up themselves and spilling wine on the table with how drunk they were. 

From his place on the coffee table, Humphrey could hear Alison talk excitedly to Mike about their plans for the holidays: Christmas Eve would be a night of movies just for alive people, Christmas itself would be a cosy day with Mike’s family, and Boxing Day would be the ‘chill out at home with presents by ourselves’ day. 

The other ghosts, naturally, talked about what gifts they would’ve gotten each other if they were still alive. Everyone unanimously decided that Robin would get a more modern chess set, Julian would get a good pair of trousers, and the Captain would’ve gotten something to let him bloody relax for once. All the ghosts laughed when Pat mentioned he would’ve gotten Humphrey a scarf. 

Alison, from a few steps away, seemed to raise an eyebrow at the suggestion. 

—————————————

When Christmas day finally arrived, Alison turned to Pat. 

“Pat, could you put Humphrey’s head on his body please?” 

The scoutmaster grinned, picked up the head from the table (he hadn’t been moved in the last few days) and popped it onto the body’s shoulders. 

“Oh, my hands! That’s nice,” the Tudor nobleman sighed as he shook out his arms. 

“I got you a gift as well, Humphrey!” said Alison, digging around in a plastic bag. The ghosts crowded around as she pulled out a hand-knitted red-and-white striped scarf. 

“It’s red and white striped like the Tudor rose! I know you can’t wear it, but I thought it’d be a nice gesture for you as part of me and Mike’s big ghost family.”

Humphrey could’ve cried with how happy he felt, instead opting to thank Alison as much as he could. 

It really was the best Christmas.


End file.
